As time passes, my journey through grief transforms me. I discover I am not the same. My writing progresses with me though the changing seasons. ​​(Visit my Pathways page for earlier grief journey writings.)

The years since she’s been gone are ticking by. The first year, I was barely alive, and I wondered how I’d survive. The second year, signs of life began to bud, like the early signs of spring, encouraging me that I could live again. As the third anniversary of her heaven-going approaches, I discover life has stabilized more than I ever expected.

Life is different now. I’m different. Life is not as I would have chosen it to be. Many chapters in my life have ended and new chapters have opened, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I find much that is good.

It is more of a priority than ever to nurture close relationships. I’d rather have a few close friends and deep friendships than many friends with little depth.

I’m not into people-pleasing as much as I used to be. I recognize that I don’t always have to offer an explanation or apologize for my choices. Other people can be all right with that or not. Their response is up to them, not me.

The emotional stress following the death of child (even an adult child) can make or break a marriage. It is likely to expose cracks that already existed in a relationship that will either widen or be forged together in the fire. I am absolutely blessed by the forging of our marriage stronger than ever.

Grief will test a person’s mettle to the core. It will make a person bitter or better. Which we become is a choice.

I’ve witnessed, in myself and in others, the importance of not blaming God. What happened was not his fault. Rather, it is God who turns tragedy to triumph and causes us to rise from the ashes with new hope, strength, and purpose. Being angry with God might be a momentary response in our brokenness, but dwelling in that anger will not bring peace. It will stall healing and hinder us from finding hope and living again.

My understanding of the goodness of God is more solid than ever. It’s not his job to keep all the bad stuff from happening. He proves His absolute goodness and fathomless love by walking every step through the valley of the shadow of death with us. He weeps with us and uplifts our hearts when we’re so heavy with grief we think it impossible to go on. He comforts and strengthens and heals our broken heart. God’s goodness and love are so vast it is not even possible to overstate or exaggerate.

Likewise, I can’t overemphasize the necessity of looking for the good in every day, focusing on the positive, and nurturing an optimistic outlook.

I miss Jeanette. I always will. And, for that reason, I understand why they say grief never ends. I weave in and out of emotions; sometimes ambushed by the unanticipated that hits like a wrecking ball. Even so, it’s not the raw, ragged, open wound nor the deep dark pit of grief that it was at first. I relive those first days, weeks, and months as I see someone else going through the horrible bad dream of loss. I want to say, “Hold on! It will get better! Life may never be the same, and you may never be the same. Even though it may be hard to imagine right now, life will be good again, and you will live again.”

We comfort others with the comfort we ourselves have received. Even if our experiences, stories, circumstances, and details are widely different, there is something unique that bonds bereaved parents together. We identify and empathize with one another in a way no one who hasn’t experienced it can. It was not by choice I joined this group of brave and courageous mothers and fathers, and yet, there is a certain indescribable preciousness in being able to embrace and comfort another bereaved parent. Yes, believe it or not, you will survive. Not only survive, but thrive!